


The Good Samaritan

by Telaryn



Series: The Tale of Eliot Spencer and Ellen Harvelle [1]
Category: Leverage, Supernatural
Genre: Bar Room Brawl, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, F/M, First Time, Gunshot Wounds, Hurt/Comfort, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-16
Updated: 2012-09-16
Packaged: 2017-11-14 09:18:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/513689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Telaryn/pseuds/Telaryn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When he decides to spend the evening in a bar in Nowhere, Nebraska, Eliot is drawn into something he barely understands and into the orbit of a woman he can't resist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Good Samaritan

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for Elzed for the 2011 Leveragexchange at Livejournal. Later updated to include the porn that never seemed to make it into the first go-round.

Friday night and the Roadhouse was packed. Locals crowded the tables and booths, and hunters Ellen hadn’t seen in months were scattered throughout the crowd. Pool tables were full, Ash’s pinball machine was clanging, and somebody had Hank Williams Jr. on the jukebox to mixed reception from the crowd. _Even got the boys,_ Ellen noted, nodding at Sam and Dean. The Winchesters had their heads together with Ash, _talking over a job, most like._

“PBR times three,” Jo said distractedly, slipping behind the bar and unloading her tray. She and the other girls were hustling to keep up with the demand.

Ellen rolled her eyes, but pulled up the cans and set them on the tray. _Only thing to recommend the stuff is it’s cheap,_ she thought. Out loud she said, “New guy behavin’ himself?” She glanced at the stranger, who was seated at the end of the bar, starting his second beer of the night.

Jo nodded as she hefted her tray. “Bit of a flirt, but no grab-hands.”

 _That’s the least of my worries,_ Ellen thought. If the stranger had a case of roaming hands, Jo would have already dropped him on his ass. “He say where he was from?”

Jo shrugged, moving off with her order. Ellen continued to work the bar, but every free second she had she found her attention drifting to the newcomer. There was something about him, and she honestly didn’t know if talking to him or bouncing him was the smarter option.

Work quickly distracted her again – the orders were coming fast and furious. Maddie – one of the other girls – came to collect another beer for the stranger. _High end American,_ Ellen noted with some surprise. She honestly would have figured him for a cheaper brand.

Then all hell broke loose at the other end of the bar.

More than a few people she trusted had been telling her lately that she needed to ban the Winchesters from the property and her life. The issue seemed to be less with Dean and more with Sam – who was by all reports evidencing psychic powers. She wasn’t sure what the two of them had gotten drawn into, but Ellen knew she’d be damned and buried before she turned her back on John Winchester’s boys.  
*********  
Eliot accepted his third beer from the redhead with a nod of thanks and took a swig. Whoever ran this place definitely knew the value of having good looking women working the crowd. He caught sight of the slender blond who’d served him earlier, giving her backside an appreciative once over. When he turned back towards the bar, he realized the female bartender was glaring at him.

 _Okay._ Recognizing steel when he saw it, he favored the woman with a respectful nod. She snorted, and went back to pulling drinks. Eliot realized with a jolt that he was both amused and slightly offended by the dismissal. _But you don’t even know me!_ his brain protested – although Eliot knew the odds of him changing that fact before he had to hit the road were so small they weren’t worth thinking about.

 _Hit the road where?_ He was between jobs; nothing from his regular clients, and nothing new on the horizon. He’d stumbled on the Roadhouse almost by accident – driving back from one of his less normal retrieval jobs in western Montana. The place had looked inviting, so he’d stopped in. Getting a good buzz going and finding someone to share the night with wasn’t the worst way to deal with unexpected downtime.

Halfway through his third bottle, there was a commotion at the opposite end of the bar. Eliot, along with the people surrounding him, craned his neck to get a good look at what was going on. A young man - _early to mid-twenties_ , he estimated – had been grabbed by two older, two much rougher looking men. Eliot couldn’t hear what he was saying over the rumble of the crowd, but the kid was clearly terrified.

Another man – older than the kid by a couple of years, had stepped away from the bar with murder in his eyes. Eliot realized he’d seen the two together earlier, deep in conference with a skinny dude who looked like somebody had forgotten to tell him the eighties were dead and buried.

 _This is gonna get ugly fast._ Eliot scanned the crowd, looking for even the slightest indication of somebody willing to come to the boys’ defense. There was nothing; most of the patrons would stay out of things – those who might be persuaded to get involved looked like they were definitely on the side of the toughs who had the younger kid pinned between them.

By the time he’d forced his way through about half the crowd separating him from the fight, the fists started flying.  
**************  
 _Fucking wonderful,_ Ellen thought, signaling Jo to round up the girls as she reached for the shotgun she kept under the bar. Most of them had already seen for themselves where things were heading; Amanda and Gina were already safe behind the bar, and Carrie was heading towards them at top speed, putting out her “you don’t see me” vibe with everything she could spare.

That left Jo, who was marching towards them hustling Maddie in front of her. Once the two of them reached relative safety, Ellen toed the stepladder over and climbed it – planting one foot securely on the bar itself.

Fists were definitely flying. Sam and Dean were defending themselves as well as they could, but it was still only Larry and Connor standing against them. _And would you look at that…_ In the time it took Ellen to size up the situation, the stranger had gotten into the fray. He grabbed Larry from behind, spinning him and landing a solid right cross that put the burly hunter on the floor. That gave Dean time and space to deal with Connor, which John’s older boy was apparently more than happy to do.

Ellen ratcheted the shotgun for effect, aimed, and fired over the head of the crowd into the opposite wall. “All right you animals, that’s enough!” She shifted stance, sighting down the barrel at a spot in the middle of Connor’s forehead. “You know the rules, Connor Jackson. You know I don’t tolerate brawlin’ in here.”

The hunter looked like he was going to protest, but Ellen silenced him with a look. “Yes ma’am,” he muttered, tense muscles starting to relax as he realized he had no friend in her or her girls. “Sam, Dean,” Ellen went on without looking at either Winchester, “you two get on out of here.”

Dean took Sam by the arm, and with a quick nod in her direction, the two of them started collecting their things. “Anybody has any funny ideas about following those boys might as well step forward now,” she announced to the bar at large. “Save me having to track you down to blow your fool heads off.”

She glared at Connor. “You’re just going to stay there another couple of minutes, and then you and Larry are leaving too.” She caught movement out of the corner of her eye and saw the stranger watching her. His hands were up in a gesture of surrender and he wasn’t moving – but he also wasn’t happy about her shotgun. “We gonna have a problem?” she asked him.

“Only if you point that gun in my direction,” he said. His voice was soft, but intense; carrying easily over the crowd.

 _Texas,_ Ellen thought. _Probably by way of Oklahoma._ Ignoring the implied threat, she glanced at the clock. _Ten minutes. Should be enough, the way Dean drives._ “All right, Connor, up,” she ordered. “Get a couple of your buddies and you and Larry get out of here. I don’t want to see your faces again.”  
************  
Eliot let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding as the bartender stepped down from her perch and life restarted around him. He understood why she’d done things the way she had, but the number of ways it could have gone badly for her had him almost shaking with adrenaline.

“Not your problem,” he muttered, making his way back to his stool. He needed to get out of here – calm down – before he found himself in something more than just helping a couple of stupid kids out of a jam.

“Get you a refill?” The blond who’d caught his attention earlier was standing opposite him when he regained his seat. “On the house.”

Eliot eyed her suspiciously. “Why?”

Jo swept his half-empty bottle away with one hand and wiped the surface of the bar with a rag in her other. The moves were practiced…graceful…and Eliot again thought about seeing if she was interested in coming back to his hotel room with him. “Sam and Dean are practically family,” the girl said. “That was a good thing you did trying to help them out. Mama said you could have your pick of whatever we’ve got in stock.”

 _Mama?_ Barely managing to cover his shock, Eliot glanced at the bartender again. _Well, that answers that._ Cute as the blond was, she’d just moved firmly into the category of “not worth it”.

He accepted the free beer with thanks, talking to the blond long enough to find out her name was Jo and her mother’s name was Ellen before Ellen called her away to deal with other customers. Eliot was happy to let her go at that point, taking his time to enjoy his beer and watching Ellen as she settled back into the routine of dealing with her customers. Every so often she would glance in his direction, but no matter how hard he willed it she never came close enough for him to try and strike up a conversation.

Finally, he paid his check – adding a generous tip for Jo and Maddie the redhead, and made his way towards the door.  
************  
Ellen realized with a quiet snort of amusement that she was actually disappointed when the stranger finally headed for the door. “What’d you tell him?” she asked Jo after her daughter had made the offer of a free drink and the two of them had talked for a minute or so.

Jo shrugged. “Offered him the drink, thanked him for helping out the boys.”

Ellen considered how readily the man had come to Sam and Dean’s aid. “Didn’t seem like he knew them, did he?”

Jo shook her head. “Just a good Samaritan I guess.”

 _A good Samaritan._ One, who if Ellen was any judge of men at all, was making no secret of his interest in her by the time he’d left. She’d thought more than once about approaching him herself, but things still weren’t settled in the Roadhouse. Even though none of them had stepped up, Ellen knew more than a few of her regulars weren’t happy that she’d made such a public show of support for the Winchesters.

Despite the disruption in the normal flow of the evening, they closed on time without any further problems. Ellen went through the night’s take while the girls cleaned up, then divided up the tips. It had been a good haul, all things considered, and even Carrie – who normally shook for days after a fight – was smiling when she left.

“You need me to stay?” Jo asked, pausing in the act of putting on her coat.

Ellen waved her on. “Don’t worry about it. I’m just gonna bring in a case of Coors, then lock up. Get some sleep.”

Jo looked uncertain, but let it go. “Okay. Love you.”

It was a stupid move. Horror movie stupid, and Ellen knew it almost before Jo’s car had cleared the parking lot. There was nothing she could do about it, however, without losing face in the community. Men like Larry and Connor Jackson were jackals – at the slightest sign of weakness, they’d try to take what was hers.

She did make sure her own pistol was loaded and easily accessible under her coat once she’d locked up and was making her way across the parking lot to her truck. No point in being any dumber than circumstances forced her to be.  
**********  
Eliot wasn’t sure what had prompted him to return to the Roadhouse. He’d found a cheap motel a mile up the road, and was settling in for the night when he realized every instinct was screaming at him to go back. He finally gave in at nearly three in the morning, rationalizing that it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to verify that Ellen had run into no additional trouble over the night’s activities.

He saw the scuffle immediately after he’d turned into the parking lot of the Roadhouse. Three shadowy figures – two men and a woman – were fighting next to a battered red pick-up truck. Eliot was throwing his own vehicle into park just as one of the men threw the woman hard into the side of the truck. She cried out in pain, and collapsed to the ground.

 _No…_ Eliot was out of the truck and running when he saw the smaller of the two men step back and raise a gun; aiming at the fallen woman’s head.

“You can’t support evil,” he heard the man with the gun say. “Not without a price, Ellen.”

Eliot didn’t think – he reacted. Scooping up a rock on the fly, he hurled it at the speaker. It struck him in the shoulder just as he fired. Ellen’s body jerked, but at this distance Eliot couldn’t tell where she’d been hit.

It was enough; the world went red, and Eliot launched himself at the two men. They were brawlers – no match for his training – and the fight was over in a matter of moments. Ellen was sitting up by the time he put the second man on the ground, holding a pistol in her right hand and cradling her left arm stiffly at her side.

“Where are you hit?” Eliot asked, dropping to his knees beside her. Ellen flinched at the sound of his voice; even in the dim light, he could see the sweat beading on her skin.

“Arm,” she said. “Flesh wound. I’ve got somebody I can call.” She gestured behind him. “They still breathing?”

Eliot shrugged. “Are we caring?” His fingers found the tear in her coat, and gently probed the wound underneath. Ellen endured his touch for as long as she could, then swore and punched him when he pressed too hard.

“I can fix this up for you,” he said finally, deciding that the wound was well within his ability to deal with. “Do you have a first aid kit inside?”

After a moment, Ellen nodded. “Help me up.”  
***********  
The first thing Ellen did when they were safely back inside was call the police and report the attack. Sheriff Anderson promised to send a patrol car by to collect the Jacksons, and agreed to let her come down and make her statement in the morning. “If he sees they shot me,” she told Eliot after hanging up the phone, “it doubles his paperwork and does me no favors.” She started trying to shrug out of her coat, then froze – gasping as pain whitened her vision.

Eliot was at her side immediately. “Let me help.” His hands were steady as he worked the coat off her shoulders, and Ellen was able to regain some measure of equilibrium. Now that the initial shock of her injury was fading, she was able to confirm for herself that it really was little more than a flesh wound. 

“It's Eliot, right?” she asked, suddenly very aware of how close he was standing to her. When he nodded, she said, “There’s scissors in the kit. Cut what you need to – the shirt’s trashed.” He was quiet at first; Ellen could feel him looking at her. Finally, he took her by her good arm and helped her to a chair within easy reach of the first aid kit.

“What’s your preference?” he asked, going to the shelf where the hard liquor lived.

“Whiskey,” she said, indicating the left side. It was half full, and she had no problem believing she’d finish it before he was done stitching her up.  
*********  
 _Shoulda figured,_ Eliot thought, hiding a smile as he reached for the bottle Ellen had chosen. If he’d thought about it for more than half a second, he completely would have pegged the woman for a whiskey drinker. _So perfect it’s almost clichéd._

Opening it, he passed the bottle to Ellen, then searched through the kit for what he was going to need. In better light, the wound looked even more superficial than he’d first thought. _Probably stung like a sonofabitch,_ he acknowledged, neatly cutting away enough of the fabric to expose the wound and give him room to work.

“Why’d you help the boys?” Ellen asked.

Eliot glanced up at her and shrugged. “Looked more like a witch hunt than any kind of legitimate quarrel.” He paused. “Based on how ready you were to start shooting, I’m guessing you agree with me?”

Ellen took another long swallow of whiskey; Eliot tried not to be too distracted by the curve of her neck. “Jo told you they’re like family to us,” she said, lowering the bottle and meeting Eliot’s eyes again. “Their dad passed away last year – they’re into some bad stuff, but it’s not their fault.”

Forcing himself back to business, Eliot started cleaning the wound. “I really wasn’t hitting on your daughter, you know,” he said after a long moment.

Ellen snorted, and he looked up at her again. “I wasn’t!” he insisted. “Maddie, maybe,” he conceded. “Not your daughter.”

“Jo would have dropped you on your ass,” Ellen said.

Eliot smiled in spite of himself as he reached for the needle. “You’re not exactly warning me off by saying that.”  
***********  
Even though he was obviously doing his best to distract her, Eliot still warned, “Don’t hit me,” just before the needle bit into her skin. Ellen took another pull off the whiskey bottle, letting the alcohol induced numbness sweep over her.

“You’ve done this before,” she noted when he about halfway through. Her head felt fuzzy from the whiskey. She kept getting distracted by the half-smile that seemed to have settled on his lips as he worked, and the relaxed set of his features.

“Mmm-hmm,” he acknowledged before setting the last two stitches and knotting off the thread. “Here and there.”

She laughed. “Oh that’s not vague at all!”

Eliot reached into the kit and brought out a roll of gauze. “It’s all you’re getting, and more than most people do.” He began wrapping her upper arm, covering the evidence of his handiwork. “You should still see a doctor, you know,” he said once he’d secured the bandage. “It looked to me like Elmer Fudd threw you pretty hard into that truck.”

Ellen knew he was right, but as far as she was concerned that was tomorrow’s problem. With the gunshot wound safely taken care of, and a police report to back up her story about being attacked, she had no problems going to see a doctor about any other possible injuries. “I’ll take care of it,” she promised, as Eliot began putting the remaining first aid materials back in the kit.

When he was finished, Eliot crouched in front of her, resting his hands lightly on her legs and looking up directly into her eyes. “You bullshitting me?”

Worn down by alcohol and adrenaline, Ellen gave him the only answer she could. She kissed him. Eliot inhaled sharply – clearly caught off guard by her move – but didn't try to pull away. When his body moved into her, and his hands tightened on her thighs almost instinctively, Ellen _knew_ she'd done right.  
***********  
Eliot could taste the whiskey on her as they kissed. The feel of it on his tongue helped drive back the rantings of his conscience that he was taking advantage of the situation and of her. As Ellen slid her hands into his hair, cupping his head so she could urge him closer, he realized he was trembling with the effort of holding himself in check.

“You're hurt,” he murmured, pressing his forehead against hers as their lips finally parted. “Ellen, you don't even know me.”

Her laugh was like dark, rich velvet against his skin. “I'm not lookin' for a lifetime, cowboy.” Her hand slid down to his cheek – tipping his head back until they were looking into each other's eyes. “And I don't beg for a man's company. Can you live with those terms? I promise you I’ll handle the rest.”

 _This is a bad idea._ Eliot knew he should leave. He'd done all he could – there was every reason in the world for him to see this woman home and leave town. _Tonight._ Instead he gripped the arms of her chair and pulled himself to his feet – leaning over her. Out loud he simply said, “I can.”

Lowering himself, he brushed his lips lightly against hers. Ellen fisted one hand in his hair, pulling him even closer. Growling low in his throat, Eliot picked her up in his arms and carried her to the bar. When he set her on top, it ended up being a much more comfortable angle for both of them. Eliot slipped his hands under the hem of her shirt as they continued kissing each other; skimming his palms across her skin, his fingers teasing under the waistband of her jeans.

Ellen was more direct – thumbing open the button at his waist and undoing his fly. “There you are,” she grinned, reaching inside his boxers. Warm fingers wrapped around the length of his shaft, pulling his erection free.

Eliot groaned, shuddering with pleasure as she stroked him. “Like that, huh?” she grinned. The calloused pad of her thumb brushed against his leaking slit, smearing pre-cum across his skin. “I figured you might.”

Mingled scents of whiskey, tobacco and arousal filled his nostrils, as Eliot cupped the back of her neck and leaned in for another kiss – this one more ferocious than before, as he let her see a little more of how much he wanted her. “You need to tell me if I hurt you,” he growled, pulling hard on her jeans. Ellen lifted her hips – hanging onto his neck until he could work the tight denim down her legs.

“I told you I'd worry about that,” Ellen breathed – gasping as he slid his hand beneath her panties and pushed two fingers inside her. “You're doing just fine.” She rocked her hips into his thrust, until he was buried to the knuckles inside her body. He brushed the nub of her clit with his thumb, and a tremor shivered across her skin.

Her hands fell away from him as she scrambled to support herself. Eliot kept one hand at the small of her back, while he worked the other one between her legs. “So wet,” he murmured, fucking into her with hard, firm strokes. Ellen responded with a half-hearted attempt to reach for him again; he increased pressure on her clit, and her hand slapped back down against the bar.

“Plenty of time for me,” he said softly, leaning in and kissing the slope of her neck. “I want to watch you first.” He raised his head and brushed his lips against her earlobe. Glancing behind her, he watched her hands flex and relax against the bar in time with the thrust of his fingers. The sounds she was making vibrated against his skin. His cock was achingly hard now – every accidental brush of the head against the skin of her thigh felt so good he forgot how to breathe for a moment.

“You’re a liar,” Ellen growled, suddenly hooking a hand behind his neck. Before he could respond, she was kissing him again – her mouth hot against his lips as her tongue licked inside him.

“I could breathe on you right now and make you come,” she added; her smile as she met his eyes was wild, with a dangerous edge to it. “So tease me later, Cowboy.” Wrapping her fingers around his shaft again, she tugged him in as close as she could. “Fuck me now.”

It took some maneuvering, but Eliot’s groan of relief as he finally buried himself inside her was deep and heartfelt. “There’s my boy,” Ellen breathed, licking a line of fire up the side of his neck. “Show me what you got.”  
***************  
He was adaptable – she had to give him props for that. And extremely skilled; he’d been ready, willing and more than able to take his time and make it all about her. His failure to immediately get that sometimes a woman just needed a man’s cock was something she put down to his age instead of his experiences. He was young – not Dean Winchester young, but young enough that she’d raise a few eyebrows if people learned what she was doing and with whom.

 _But adaptable…_ she thought again, pulling him even closer against her body as he drove them closer and closer to orgasm. _Definitely…God…yes…_ Even her thoughts trailed off into incoherency as her entire awareness became a swirl of flesh and skin and heat and Eliot’s arms anchoring her inside her body – keeping her whole.

Biting him in the shoulder just as her body seemed to explode was an impulse move – she dug her teeth in and screamed her release into his flesh – but it worked to tip him over the edge as well. He cried out, thrusting hard against her as he came.

The sensations were overwhelming, stretching almost to the edge of pain, before starting to subside again. Through it all, Ellen hung onto him – knowing on a level she couldn’t even properly verbalize yet that this was somebody who was going to change everything for her. Even if he left in the next few hours, nothing about her life would ever be the same again.

A small, tired laugh escaped her. Blowing out a quiet breath, Eliot pulled back until he could see her face. “What?”

Ellen shook her head. “Hormones,” she said. “Make me stupid. It’s nothing.”

He kissed her and it was sweet – almost chaste. “I should probably see about getting you home,” he admitted as they shifted against each other.

Biting her lip, Ellen made her decision in a half-dozen heartbeats. Eliot watched her patiently, sensing that she was working something important out, and it was something he shouldn’t push.

“You could stay,” she said, finally. “With me. It’s almost dawn anyway, and the bed’s big enough for two.” She chuckled ruefully. “It’s up to you, but we’ll both think a lot clearer in the morning.”

Eliot smiled at her – and it was so real, so genuine, that Ellen felt a flutter of panic in her stomach. _Oh you’re a bad idea,_ she thought – although nothing about the realization pushed her to withdraw her invitation.

He kissed her one more time, then said, “I’ll make breakfast."


End file.
